


Forget-Me-Not

by AceQueenKing



Category: Mighty Morphin Power Rangers
Genre: Africa, Crossing Timelines, F/F, France (Country), Friends to Lovers, Injury Recovery, Post-Canon, Post-Canon Fix-It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-14
Updated: 2017-01-14
Packaged: 2018-09-12 14:02:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9075013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AceQueenKing/pseuds/AceQueenKing
Summary: The world has changed, but Aisha has not.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [catandmouse10](https://archiveofourown.org/users/catandmouse10/gifts).



The world has changed, but she has not.

She wakes up in Africa, ostensibly a different person, but she isn't. She's still wearing Angel Grove clothing. She opens her wallet, sees a new ID: the name written upon it is the same, but the address, different. She walks home through high, unfamiliar grasses; tries (and fails) to decode street signs that are written, unhelpfully, in Swahili.

She stumbles home, gradually, thanks mostly to a British girl who is visiting Kenya; she takes pity on her fellow anglophone, and leads her directly to the home of her family. Her hair is brown and her eyes browner still; Aisha thinks of Kim, in Florida, and her heart heaves, knowing that she will likely never see her again.

She bumbles into her father at the doorway; he says something incomprehensible to her, full of sounds and letters she does not understand. Even his demeanor is different; the father she had left in America was always in suits and generally grimacing. This father is wearing jeans and a t-shirt and a smile on his face; he looks happy, then puzzled when she shakes her head and bumbles upstairs to where she hopes her bedroom lies.

She collapses onto what must be her bed and cries, cries hard until she falls asleep, and prays that Zordon's time-line will fully change itself in the morning. She will awake a new girl, with a new background; new parents, new land, new language.

* * *  
  
The timeline changes, but Aisha does not.

She spends two days in her bedroom, feigning ill whenever her mother or father come by her, their concerned sounds flitting in and out of her ears. Her mother leaves strange foods at her bedside. She eats them, quickly; some sort of grilled meat, a soft dough ball with the consistency of porridge, and a sort of stew. She learns quickly that the food is more delicious when combined, and eats well. This is, she thinks, the reason her parents spare her from the doctor.

Between meals, she studies this new language, as much as she can. Her room is full of books, a different Aisha's books. She flips through some children's books still left on the shelf, manages to learn a few words. _Ndio_ is yes; _la_ is no. _Paka_ is cat, _mbwa_ is dog. Yellow, she learns with some pride, is _njano_ , and bear _kubeba._ _Mama_ , happily, is mother, and easy enough to remember; dad, however, is slightly different, _baba._ Painfully, she manages to fit sentences together after a couple days: _Baba, nilikuwa mgonjwa._

With this rudimentary knowledge, she is able to convince her parents that she was merely ill, and is recovering. She points to her throat, and she thinks in their pleased expressions that her parents have deduced she has a sore throat, and is able to falsely lull her way through a family dinner. Her mother, her _true_ mother, in Stone Canyon, was a lousy cook. This one, this Kenyan-born and bred mother, makes even simple flour taste unbearably good.

If her mother notices the small tear of mourning that slips from her eye unbidden, she does not comment on it.  
  
* * *

The timeline has changed, but Aisha feels stuck between two worlds.

She learns Swahili quickly enough; she has always been clever, and bright, and after a few weeks she acclimatizes, the once-strange words tasting sweet on her tongue. Her parents are pleased to see her return to normal, or at least their Aisha's version of it. She is fun, and popular; this Aisha has many friends, and few responsibilities.

But that doesn't stop her from freezing as she passes a television on a shopping trip with her friends. A monster attack on Angel Grove, again; she watches, in powerless terror, as the megazord fights. It is not a megazord she recognizes; there is no sign of her great bear watching from its chest. It's far too blue, and different; she wonders if the yellow ranger there is Tanya, if she is doing alright adjusting to Angel Grove.

The old Aisha still lives in her in those moments, frozen as if transfixed. Her friend Barika grabs her arm and leads her forward, but Aisha's thoughts remain on the Rangers. “Do not worry, Aisha,” Barika says. “Such things – they cannot happen here.”  
  
Aisha is unconvinced. She too, had thought that once.  


* * *

Aisha adjusts to her new life, but misses her home.

She thinks of it often, her true home – all high-rise towers, quarries, and parks. She thinks of the ocean, of scuba-diving with Kim in deliciously calm and salty shores. She thinks of Adam, and Rocky, and misses them horrifically; they have been her friends as long as she has been able to walk, present for every moment of her life. Without them, she feels adrift, loose. It is as if her arms have been cut off.

Even with Barika, with Gathii, with Wamai, with all her other friends – there is a pain in her, dull but unending.

Aisha succumbs to temptation after a couple months of pining. She still remembers e-mail addresses, and writes Rocky and Adam in the computer lab in her new school. She writes Kim too, a different email, one asking how she is and where she is and how she likes her training. She does not mention that she is living in Africa now; does not know how to explain why she has done this.

Adam writes back right away, his e-mail full of ALL CAPS and exclamation points. Yes he is enjoying Angel Grove, yes, Rocky is ok, and Tanya is doing alright, too. He will try to get her to sign up for an email address so she can talk to Aisha. He mentions Tanya frequently, and she wonders if Adam may, perhaps, like her. How are the animals, he wants to know; how is her family. He mentions the ranger business in the most general of terms; that he is fond of green now, that Rita and Zedd are out of the picture, that there is a new power on the moon-base and that they are machines.

 _It's not the same_ , he writes back at the bottom of his email. _I miss you_.

She reads it hungrily, guiltily; she reads it over and over again, prints out his letter so she can bring it home. She writes back instantly. Rocky writes her too, with news much the same – he, too, is a new color, blue, and he's taken to wearing blue over red, isn't that funny? He will ask Tommy if he has gone through the same thing, and if Tommy could perhaps write Aisha, too. He doesn't write as frequently as Adam, despite being the bigger computer nerd between the two of them, but she understands why: Rocky has always loved to keep busy.

Eventually, Tommy does write her. His writing is cool, calm; _how's it hanging. We miss you. Do you like it there?_ He asks; then, he seems to anticipate all her questions: _Billy's taking retirement okay; he helps out at the CC sometimes. Rangers ok. New powers._ _Getting driver's license next week. Hope to talk to you soon._ He is a born leader; direct, but not unkind. He will always be a leader, she thinks.

Even Tanya writes her; she is well, though she misses home. She asks if Aisha has tried _ingokho_ with _ugali_ yet, her favorite meal. She says that Adam is very nice, and kind, and reminds her of her good friend Bakira. She is living with Kat's family, and Kat is very happy to have the roommate. She says that they are good, and asks her to look after the people she left behind. Aisha promises she will.

It is only Kimberly and Billy who say nothing to her. Billy she is not surprised by – she remembers Kimberly complaining, through a scratchy line in Florida, that Billy often forgot to call. But Kim? Her friend, her team-mate, a girl so close to her she called her sister?

Kim's willingness to ignore her is a stab through her heart.

* * *

She does not change her life without purpose.

She is seventeen when she is admitted to the veterinary medicine program in the capital; her parents are proud. Bakira buys her a stethoscope and hugs her as she bids her goodbye from her small, country home.

She moves to Nairobi, which reminds her more of Angel Grove than her parent's hometown. There are McDonald's here, and quarries, and high-rises. She still feels isolated, alone; she misses her friends, both old and new. Most of her new friends aren't going on to college; their way remains the way of their forefathers, and they are content to follow hundreds of years of tradition. They only understand that she is leaving so that she can come home.  
  
She writes to her Angel Grove friends more frequently, watches their exploits as rangers on the television. She doesn't dwell on the ones she's lost contact with – Billy's gone to Aquitar, evidently to marry a fish, which seems very...Billy. She doesn't dwell on Kim's radio silence, forgets her dear friend blocking her out until the very moment she sees her on the television in her small dorm room.

She's in the Pan-Global games, the event she's been training mercilessly for. She'd recognize Kimberly even without the small sign at the bottom of the screen, bearing Kim's name, age, and hometown for all to see. She watches, mesmerized, as Kimberly turns and pivots; watches the way her powerful thighs straddle the balance beam, watches with her hand on her cheek as Kim does a running jump onto the pommel horse.

There's such a confidence in the way her friend moves; Aisha watches, powerless to resist. She watches every event, sees Kim win three gold medals. She'd always known Kim to be an attractive woman, but this Kimberly is bewitching. She watches, and smiles, and wishes her well despite the silent treatment. She is beyond proud of her.

She writes one more email congratulating her, but does not hear a response back. She throws herself into her studies so deeply that she almost fails to notice.

* * *

Aisha is a fish out of water in Nairobi.

She does not make as many friends; colleagues, she has plenty of, and acquaintances, but mostly she devotes herself to her studies. She feels a pressing need to solve the crisis she gave up her own time-line for; feels a need to absolve her parent's homeland of its curse.

After that, she does not know what she will do, but she does not dwell on it. She keeps her nose to her books, her hands upon the animals she's been tasked with caring for.

She dreams of Kim, sometimes. She sees Kim leaning toward her, watches her body bend and move. She is supple, quick. Aisha is a bit in love in her dreams. Once, she had thought her worship of Kim to come from a place of admiration; Kim had been a ranger longer, was more talented, more beautiful.

Now she knows there was more to it than that. There are dreams where she dreams of Kim leaning close to her, dreams where Kim's pink lips press against her own.

It's at this point that Aisha knows something she's long suppressed: men don't interest her at all. She keeps quiet about this, studies. Kenya is not California, and such things are not looked upon kindly here.

Still, she thinks of Kim, sometimes, the sun glittering in her hair, and smiles.

* * *

Her hard work pays off. She graduates with honors.

It feels somewhat hollow. She doesn't save the animals in her family's new-found hometown, doesn't understand the source of their plight even after four years of hard work. She needs more education. Her parents do not understand. Her friends at home do not understand – Bakira has three children, and wants to know when Aisha will make some of her own. Aisha dances around the subject, and spoils her friend's children instead. Gathii has two and has lost her first husband, and married again, and wants to know when Aisha will come to see her new husband. She promises she will, but she does not give a date. Wamai has taken over the local grocery, and is doing well, and wants to know if she would be interested in running it with him. She promises she is not.

It is made worse by the fact that Rocky and Adam have vanished, abruptly. Their correspondence had been getting thinner and thinner as they neared their graduation, but they stopped, almost instantaneously, after finishing school. Two years later, Aisha still does not know why and with her studies done, it feels like a more burning question than ever. She looks at the rangers on TV who wear strange new outfits with strange new zords and she can tell, by their voices, that she knows none of them. She has even tried to reach the command center on her communicator, but receives only silence.

She is scared for them, but she is powerless. She goes home to her parents, for the time being, and studies the animals, as if the secret of their aggression is locked inside them.

* * * 

Her mother is putting pressure on her to marry. She does not want to.

“What about Wamai?” Her mother asks, as Aisha folds their clothing. “He is a good boy, a grocer. You will never go hungry.”

“He doesn't like me like that, _mama_ ,” she sighs. They have had this conversation before. Aisha does not want to have this conversation again. “We are like sister and brother, not like husband and wife.”  
  
“What about – “  
  
“Mama, enough,” she says. Her mother's mouth is a pursed line of displeasure, and she says nothing else while Aisha finishes folding the clothing.

This is the night she starts applying for her doctorate.

* * * 

She is accepted at seven institutions.

Three are in Africa; two in America, and two in Europe. She does not apply for Angel Grove University; she is too afraid to see Adam, or Rocky, or any of their friends. She is a coward, she knows, but she does not want to live in a town with Rangers she does not know, with a villain she does not fight. She does not want to see Adam or Tommy or Rocky leading new lives, lives that were born and molded without her.

Instead, she applies for a veterinary school in Florida, and another in Illinois; she applies for one in France, and another in Germany, and three in Kenya. She expects to get into all of them – her grades are good, her passion undeniable – but unless she can get a scholarship, it is unlikely that she will be able to go to any of them. The letters come, in a few weeks, and they do not bring a scholarship.

They _do_ bring her mother's anger. Her mama is so furious she won't speak to Aisha, not for weeks. So it's surprising when she walks into Aisha's bedroom as she pages through another veterinary journal, and says: “There is a woman outside to see you.”

Her mother says this disdainfully; Aisha does not know if mama does not approve of the woman, or does not approve of Aisha as a whole, but she is grateful enough for the end of the silent treatment not to press her mother on it. “Thanks,” she says, standing and walking toward the door, but mama stops her, places a hand on her wrist.

“There is a man with her.” Mama's nose wrinkles. “There's something… not right about them.”

“Do you know who they are?” She asks, suddenly concerned. Mama is more superstitious here than she ever was in Stone Canyon, but Aisha has lived a life filled with enough danger not to take the warnings seriously.

“I think they're...” She hesitates, her hand tightening around Aisha's wrist. “ _Watchawi._ ”  
  
“Witches?” Aisha's blood runs cold, and she moves her arm away from her mothers before her mother notices the goosebumps running down her skin. “Mama, you are being silly. Witches don't exist.”  
  
“There's something in them not human.” Mama insists. “You be careful.”  
  
“Do you want me to turn them away?” She wanders how they found her, who they are. Zedd and Rita? Divatox? Some other enemy of the Rangers? She does not know, and she does not want to imagine what they might have in store for her. She knew they'd never messed with Trini, Zack, and Jason after they had left the rangers, but – perhaps there was a first time for everything.

“No, _binti_. You cannot offend a _Watchawi._ unless you want to be chosen the next time they need a blood sacrifice.You must listen to them, and be polite, but – Do not take anything they offer lightly. Go now; we have already talked too long.”

“Alright, mama,” Aisha says, folding her into a hug. Her mother clings back to her, the silent wall between them fully dissolved.

Despite her mother's warning, she climbs down the stairs slowly. She sees her mother watching her from the hallway, but she does not follow, no doubt afraid of the _watchawi._ Her Kenyan mother still believes in many of the stories of her childhood; perhaps, if Aisha had been the Aisha who _should_ be here, she would believe as well.

* * * 

Aisha relaxes a bit as she sees the couple; they sit on the couch, nothing about them looking particularly magical.

Mama, she decides, is being foolish, and with that thought in mind, she bounds down the stairs.

“Ms. Campbell,” the woman says, getting up. The man quickly stands behind her, his arm moving to sling across her shoulder. He looks more ill at ease to be here than the woman, who smiles warmly at Aisha. The woman is medium-skinned, almost but not quite dark enough to belong here, with long, auburn hair trailing down her back. Despite the bump that indicates that she is expecting, and quite soon, the woman is nothing but graceful. Her husband is considerably paler, with shorter, darker hair; he has a regal manner to him, but an awkward one, like a Hapsburg prince.

She shakes her hand, and feels nothing amiss. But then she looks into her eyes, and the eyes -- she knows, instantly, why her mother had called the woman a _watchawi_. Her eyes are deep brown, unfathomably deep, with brilliant pinpricks of starlight. Her eyes are old, and look like they have seen too much.

“I'm sorry,” Aisha says, frowning. “Do I know you?”  
  
“You did once,” the woman says, “in another life. Please, sit.”  
  
Aisha heeds her mother's advice, though the part of her that had once been a power ranger sulks at it. But what can she do? Her communicator is upstairs in a drawer, and has not worked since she has arrived in Africa; her yellow bear ninjetti is long gone. Last she has heard, the power rangers had even gone off into space. She can't count on her friends to save her – and she doubts the new rangers will turn around and come all the way home just for her sake.

The man and the woman sit down, almost as one. She raises her eyes toward the man's face and sees that he, too, has old eyes, with stars in them. She thinks on the riddle they had given her; surely they mean her life in Angel Grove, but she does not recognize either of them.

“What is this about?” She asks, the closest to impertinent that she dares to be. She watches as the woman looks down, and the man braces a hand on her back, as if to give her strength.

“Let us call it...restitution,” he says. He has an old voice; a rich one. It reminds her of Zordon.

“Restitution.” Aisha shrugs. “I'm sorry, but I don't know what you're talking about.”  
  
The woman glances about the room, then clicks her fingers. The doors slide shut. Aisha swallows. Whatever they are going to say, they don't want witnesses. Her hands ball into fists. It has been many years since she has been a ranger, but if the situation calls for it, she will go down fighting.

“Please,” the woman shakes her head. “We mean you no harm. We know in this time-line that your family does not know about your...ranger...activities.”  
  
“What?” Aisha tilts her had, staring at the couple. The couple who knew she was a ranger. Who had wronged her in some way. A couple she had fought against –

“Oh. My. God.” She says. “Rita and Zedd?”

“Now she understands,” The man says, turning to his wife, and the mannerisms are all too clear now: the way he signals his speech with his body language, like a man too long used to wearing a mask; the oldness of his eyes; the way they had made her mother afraid.

“We don't use those names in public anymore,” Rita, who evidently was no longer Rita, says. “We have renounced them, along with our claim in the United Alliance of Evil.”

“Okay.” Aisha blinks. No one said anything; evidently, that was supposed to mean something to her -- but it did not. Aisha tried to process what this could mean, failed. “I guess...that's good for you?”

“Perhaps,” the former Zedd said. “But we are not here to talk about us. What we have come for, Aisha Campbell, is to talk about you.”

“You don't have to give me anything.” Aisha might not have been raised in Kenya, but even she knows enough of the local folklore to be wary of accepting gifts from witches. It is common knowledge that every time you accepted a gift from a wizard, there are strings attached – and that had definitively been true enough in her life as a ranger. 

“We do.” Rita rubs her belly, grimacing; Zedd moves, instantly at her side, holding his hand over her belly. Bolts of white light shoot out from his fingers, doing what...Aisha did not know. Aisha says nothing over the strange display, but is  _definitively_ glad that Rita has keep the door shut, even if she knows her poor mother must be fretting on the other side of it. She's _sure_ this would be even harder to explain than how, in high school, she somehow forgot swahili.

“Sorry.” Rita shakes her head. “As I was saying, we are attempting to right the wrongs that we caused in our former lives. Including _your_ lives. You were only children...”  
  
“No time to think about that, my sweet,” Zedd says, then turns toward her. “It is also a gift from Zordon, whose name you perhaps trust more than our own.”  
  
“If that's the case, then why wouldn't he tell me that?” The mention of Zordon puts Aisha on edge. This was too much; they were over-sweetening the honeypot. Aisha could suspend a lot of disbelief, and had in her life, but even she finds it hard to even try to believe that Zordon has abandoned her, has sent Zedd and Rita over to sit in her living room without _mentioning_ it to her, a little _oh, by the way..._.  
  
“Because Zordon is dead,” Rita says softly, and all the air whooshes out of Aisha's sails at once. 

“What? Dead?” _That is_ bad. Unthinkable even. “And the Rangers? Is that why -?” She swallows, unable to voice her most secret fear. _Is that why they all disappeared? Why they all abandoned me?_

“No,” Zedd says, shaking his head. “The Rangers live on, in their own way. We have visited many already. You were harder to locate.”

“I don't believe you.” Her hands ball into fists. Aisha stood. Was this why Kim had never answered her emails? Why Rocky and Adam had faded away? She might not be able to make up much of a fight, but she'd die fighting them both if it came to it, lightning-bolt fingers or no. “Did you kill my friends?”

“No, child.” Rita snaps her fingers, and a small screen appeared before Aisha – a sort of magical ball, like the one in the Commander Center. She watches, spellbound, as it lights up; Rocky and Adam swim into view,  walking in a park together, laughing. Her heart aches, just at the sight of them - it has been so long.  They have both changed. Adam has cut his hair short; Rocky has grown his long. Adam slings a hand over Rocky's shoulder, and the image fades away. Tommy replaces it, studying, with new and ill-fitting glasses almost taped over his face. Another image ripples; Kat, teaching swimming lessons; then another – Tanya, singing into a microphone. It changes again, and she sees Billy, walking down an oddly-shaped boulevard, chatting with an alien woman who holds onto his hands with surprising intimacy. And then it ripples one more time; _Kim_.

Kim is sitting in a doctor's office, an unhappy look on her face. She doesn't need her medical knowledge to recognize that there are x-rays on the wall of two legs, nor does she miss the way those legs are badly fractured. 

“You haven't talked to her yet, I hope,” Aisha says, weakly. She feels torn, simultaneously relieved that her old friends are alright...and hurt that all of them had, seemingly, forgotten her. Moved on. It might have been inevitable, but it didn't make it sting any less.

“No, we haven't.” Rita snaps her fingers again, and the viewing globe disappears.

“I can't believe it.” Aisha says, shaking her head. When had they decided, that she no longer mattered? When had her friends - people who had held her very  _life_ in her hands - turned against her?   
  
“Oh, come now!” Zedd shouts. She should be concerned about angering him, but isn't; whatever he can do to her, it's not going to hurt as bad as this does. “Look, child, we've come to offer you – “  
  
“I can't believe it,” she says, ignoring him. “They really just abandoned me.”  
  
Zedd stops, mouth still open; Rita looks over at him, then leans forward, taking Aisha's hand.

“Did Zordon not explain this to you?” Rita asks, frowning.

“Explain what?” This answer is evidently not to her satisfaction; Rita turns to Zedd, gives him a look that Aisha can't read. 

“Zordon and his child soldiers,” Zedd mutters, before looking up at her and sighing. 

“They have not abandoned you so much as...” He waves his fingers. “ _Forgotten_ you. In a manner of speaking.”  
  
“Forgotten – ?”  
  
“The time-line corrected itself,” Rita offers. She speaks slowly, as if to a child. She'd be offended, if she understood any of this, at least. “When the Zeo crystal was put back together.”  
  
“Yes, I know that, but – “  
  
“ _You_ changed the time-line. There were two time-lines in play when the Zeo Crystal fractured; only yours did not fold back into the original universe.” She holds up a finger. “Humans can only perceive one time-line, generally.”

Rita pauses for a moment, as if expecting a question. Aisha did not ask any.

“You were born _here_ instead, in _this_ time-line. The Crystal changed your history, and the human world with it. While your ranger friends were in the morphing grid, through the power they gained from Zordon, they remembered your original time-line. But once your friends were removed from the morphing grid, gradually their memories were... _rewritten_...to mesh with the time-line where Aisha Campbell never attended Angel Grove. At best, they may have a flash of a girl they once knew – but by now, I doubt they could even remember your name. And once Zordon was killed, what minimal connection your friends had to the morphing grid simply….disappeared.”  
  
“Then how come _you_ remember me? No, not just that, if _I_ changed the time-line, then how come _I_ don't remember this timeline?” Aisha says, her voice wavering. “Why do I still remember Stone Canyon, and the rangers, and – “

“The morphing grid was upheld between Zordon and myself for _millennia_. It is now exclusively my charge,” Zedd says, a small smile on his face. ”And as Rita was born as a seer – you'll find we are mostly _isolated_ from such _small_ fractures in time.” Aisha doesn't know what a seer is, or what upholding the morphing grid would entail, but she says nothing, only biting her lip as she tried to come to grips with this.  
  
“As far as you, you are the epicenter of the time-line fracture,” Rita says gently, patting her hand. “You will forget in time, but it will take you far longer than most.”

Aisha winces. The idea of it – of forgetting Adam, and Rocky, and _Kim_ , burns; it is not at all acceptable. “I don't _want_ to forget.”  
  
Rita and Zedd look at one another. “We can arrange that,” Zedd says, slowly. “We've come to offer you a favor, Aisha. A way to try to help you regain what you lost to us.”

“Is this what you wish us to do? We could cast a spell that will stop the Zeo Crystal from exerting its influence on your personal time-line.”

“What's the catch?”

“No catch.” Rita squeezes her hand one more time. “You have already paid in your childhood suffering.”  
  
Aisha hesitates, for a moment. She thinks of her mother, anxiously waiting above her stairs. She thinks of all the old legends, of her old life; of Zordon, and Alpha, and Zordon being gone, and her friends forgetting. And she knows, now, that she must take the leap and trust them – someone _had_ to remember. Aisha did not want to forget. And, according to Rita, there was no fee to be paid.

“Then yes.”  
  
Zedd nods, leaning forward, and takes her other hand. “Close your eyes, Aisha. This won't take long.”  
  
She obeys, feeling a spark of what felt like lighting touching her palms. It did not hurt, and, true, to his word, it did not take long. She feels power instantaneously, yellow lightning coursing through her veins, and she thinks of her days as a ranger, and smiles.

When the transfer stops, she opens her eyes, but Zedd and Rita are gone.

A thick manila envelope is left on the table, her name written out in an elegant, gothic script. She opens it only hesitantly.

* * * 

_Aisha,_

_Please use this to help you reach your goals, whatever those may be._

_\- Z. & R._

There is what looked like a credit card attached, from a Bank in Switzerland. On the second page, there is an account summary of an account set up in her name. Her eyes bug out as she sees the amount listed – she's never seen that many zeroes in her _life._

Her mother bursts through the door at that moment, wrapping her in a tight hug. “What did they do to you, _binti?_ Are you alright _?”_  
  
“They're from the university,” she lies, pocketing the money before her mother could glance at the tell-tell note on top of it. “I got a scholarship.”  
  
Her mother did not rebuild the wall between them, but she sees the sadness in her mother's eyes as she sadly claspes her hand. “Congratulations,” she says, even though it is clear that she does not mean it.

* * *

In the end, she chooses the French veterinary school at St. Moineau. They've done a lot of studies over the Savannah, and in the end, seem to be the best fit for her goal. It's a prestigious university, and one that does a lot of charity work in Africa. Her parents cannot fault the institution for its connection to their homeland, but they will miss her.

And she will miss them. She clings tight to both of them, memorizes every curve of their face, every fleck of light in their eyes as she boards a plan that will take her towards France.

She has elected to live in the dorms, both because it is easier and because she is eager to make friends in her third foreign land. She received the envelope with her room and board assignment on it weeks ago but does not open it until she is on the plane, for fear that it will vanish before her eyes.

She glances down the continents quickly; _Aisha Campbell_ _—_ _dortoir des filles_ _intentionnelle,_ _11 rue Paradis,_ _314_ _._ _C_ ** _olocataire_** **:** **Kimberly Anne Hart.**

“Is this a Joke?” She wonders out loud, startling the old man next to her.

 _Always catches_ , her mother's voice whispers,  _always fine print_. 

She swallows, not sure if this is a good thing - or a bad one. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I admit, a lot of this chapter is my attempt to try to re-write Aisha's send-off, because wow, that Zeo Quest was astonishingly stereotypical. Rather than just a bunch of people seemingly living around a fire, I've tweaked this to a small village; I've tried to give Aisha's setting more of a place than "in Africa", and to that end, tried to bring in a bit of swahili and some actual Kenyan cultural traditions and foods. 
> 
> mchawi, pl. wachawi - Witch(es); Kenya has a long history of belief in witchcraft, so I figured if Aisha's mother had grown up in the backwoods of Kenya, she would likely have heard this folklore and might believe in it.
> 
> Binti - daughter.
> 
> ingokho with ugali - ugali is made of maize flour (cornmeal), millet flour, or Sorghum flour cooked into a porridge or dough-ish state; ingokho is chicken. 
> 
> Nairobi - the capital of Kenya.


	2. Chapter 2

 

She feels sick for the rest of the journey. The old man next to her tries to make conversation— _Comment êtes-vous, belle?_ — but she can only shake her head, her heart stolen to muteness by the unexpected turn of events.

Kimberly. _Kimberly_. There is little doubt in her mind, none, that this is _her_ Kimberly. She closes her eyes and sees Kimberly on the beam; the elegance in her walk, the way she whirled and turned, sees the way the elastic in her shorts clings to her skin. She swallows.

 _Kim_.

She doesn't know what to expect when she lands, but the though of pretending not to notice her best friend makes her sick.

The tour guide animatedly talks to her when she lands, but Aisha says little, only _oui_ and _merci_.

* * *

“Hi! I'm Kim,” Kim says to her as she wheels into their shared room. She stares down at this woman, new but old, and her mouth turns dry.

“I'm – I'm Aisha,” she mumbles, as she sits down on her yellow bedspread. She expected a lot of things when she saw Kim – that maybe she'd remember something, that somehow, Aisha would break through to her. She'd expected perhaps that Kimberly might instinctively like her, that they could at least quickly build a friendship. She expected, at the very least, a smile and a nod.

She did not expect Kim to be in a wheel chair.

“It's nice to meet you, Aisha.” Kim says, kind but obviously awkward. She looks down at the ground as she wheels away.

“You too.” Aisha busies herself so she doesn't blurt out what she wants to say: _what happened? How?_ She watches her from her bed; Kim is so similar to what she remembers that it hurts. It's the same medium-length brown hair, tied back in a light pink scrunchie. She still loves pink, that much is certain; pink scrunchie, pink bedspread, pink tank top.

And she smiles, the pink lip gloss reflecting in the sun, as she hangs a picture above her wall. She sees a flash of blue and green and knows exactly what it is, even before Kim steps away.

“So Kim,” she asks, then pauses. “Can I call you Kim?”  
  
“Yeah.” Kim sounds relieved by the assumed familiarity. “All my friends do.”

“What's your story?”  
  
“You mean about the chair?” Her voice is unusually irritated; Aisha understands it being a sore subject. It isn't as if she doesn't have her secrets.

“No.” She walks closer to Kim, points toward the picture on the wall. “Where are you from? Looks like a nice group of friends you left behind.”  
  
She looks into the past, at a picture she had once been in. Tommy, Jason, Zack, Rocky and Adam were the back-row; Kim, Trini, and Billy kneeling in front. They'd taken it in the park soon after the competition; once, she had sat between Kim and Trini. Now she was gone, with nothing taking her place.

“Yeah,” Kim says with a smile, but one tinged with sadness. “They were the best crew. Angel Grove. They saw me through...saw me through a lot.”

Aisha puts a hand on her shoulder; a light touch, but one that makes her heart beat faster none-the-less. “Tell me about it,” she says.

* * *   
  
She's been Kim's roommate for just six hours before Kim asks her a question that she's been dreading.

“Aisha,” she says, a soft smile on her face. “What are you here for?”  
  
“I've come to save the animals at my parent's village,” she says, and it only feels slightly like a lie. “My parents, they live out near the Savannah, and the animals that their living relies upon, they've… they're very uh, aggressive, and no one can figure out why.”  
  
She does not voice her mother's idea that _witches_ are to blame.

“Wow,” Kim says, smiling softly. “You're gonna save the world Aisha.”

 _We_ _already have_ , Aisha thinks, smiling, but says, simply: “I hope so.”

* * * 

She doesn't ask Kim about what she wants to get here, at least not right away. She's nervous; so much has changed for Kim, for her, but they're still the same people, aren't they?  
  
She's more comfortable talking about what Kim displays in the open: her photos of California, the framed painting of a pink flower floating in a field. The first is her childhood home, the second, a gift from her step-father, Stefan. But – there was one thing, and one thing only, that Aisha did not comment on: Kim's medals.

They hung from a hook, three of them, all gold. They were polished, shined, and yet – Kim never seems to have a smile when she looks at them, and so Aisha let it be.

Unfortunately, others did not have the same idea.

She winces as the RA stops by, his eyes all but captured by Kim's shining medals. “Holy shit!” He says, then glances toward Aisha. “You were in the Pan-Globals?”  
  
“ _I_ was,” Kim says, her voice sharp, with a hard edge; the RA pulls back, as if burned. She does not need to speak French to understand his embarrassment as he excuses himself painfully, and she does not need to have known Kim so well to understand why tears prick at the corner of her eyes.

She locks the door automatically after the RA beats his rapid retreat, and picks up a box of tissues, holding them out to Kim wordlessly.

“You must think I'm so embarrassing,” she sniffs, Kim's hands full of Kleenex.

“No,” Aisha says, her hand pressing on Kim's shoulder. If Kim remembered her, Aisha would have hugged her, would have run her fingers through Kim's silky-brown hair. Kim did not remember, and as a result, she stayed only at her side, though her fingers held Kim's shoulder tighter than perhaps was appropriate.

“Thanks,” Kim says, then, “I'm sorry. I'm just not used to it, yet.”

“You don't have to be,” Aisha says, patting her shoulder. “Life is unpredictable.”  
  
“You're a nice person, Aisha.” Kim says, softly. “I'm glad we're roommates.”  
  
“Me too,” she says, and it's true, even if it does feel like she's telling a lie.

 

* * *  

“I should tell you,” Kim says, a couple hours later, when her eyes are dry.

“You don't have to. It's obviously hard to talk about,” Aisha says, sitting down on her bed and looking toward her closet. She remembers Kim, bright eyed and smiling, and thinks how far she's come to be sitting here on her chair, her eyes wet and sad, and she's not sure that they've gone anywhere better than where they were. 

“That doesn't mean that you don't have a right to know, and obviously – obviously people are going to ask and...” Kim's voice breaks, and Aisha's heart along with it. “I might...I might not be able to and –"  
  
“I'll help,” Aisha said, hoping to soothe. She leans toward Kim, holding out a box of kleenex.

“A couple of years ago,” Kim says, softly. “I won the Pan Globals.”

“I saw.” Aisha tries to encourage her, to make her feel better in her own small way. “You were fantastic.”  
  
“Yeah, well, thanks but – “ Kim took a deep breath. “I got three medals, and I immediately started training for the next one. It's my age, you know?” Her mouth quirked into a slow, wicked grin. “You don't get to compete past your thirties, and I needed to make it count.”  
  
“You must be so dedicated, Kim.”  
  
“I was. I – I broke up with my boyfriend, I ignored my friends, I trained 18 hours a day, I ate a diet specifically for this and then, two months ago..” Kim looks up, tears in her eyes, but continues. “I took a weekend off, was coming up here to see my mom and my step-dad – my step-dad, he's french – and...” Kim gestured downwards. “Hit by a car. Drunk driver. He walked away without a scratch. I broke both my legs.”  
  
“Oh, jeez.” Aisha winces, unable to imagine the pain. 

“I woke up and the rest...” Kim shrugs. “Is here. I'm stuck in this for the next few months, probably til the end of first term. After that, with a lot of physical therapy I might – might – walk again, but….”  
  
“No more triple-flips.”

“No more triple flips.” Kim nods, then sobs. “Ever. And that was my entire life.”  
  
“I'm sorry.” Aisha patted her back as she handed her another kleenex. “I'm so sorry.”  
  
“I had to stay here, with mom and Stefan. I couldn't walk or...anything. It was _humiliating_. And the way they looked at me, with so much...pity.” She looked at Aisha, blood-shot eyes somehow still warm and radiant. “I couldn't stand that, so I convinced them to let me come to school… And now I'm here.”  
  
“And now you're here.” She agrees. “And I'm glad you're here, Kim.”  
  
“Thanks.” She smiles, but she's not happy. “Do you mind if we keep the door closed, Aisha? Just for the rest of the day?”  
  
“Of course.” Aisha springs into action, getting up and locking the door. “We won't open it until you're ready.”  
  
* * * 

They don't open it, not for the rest of the night. Aisha keeps a careful watch on Kim, who slowly pulls herself onto her cot. They talk a little, mostly small-talk about safe topics – their families, what they'll do in their classes; they find out they share one, and vow to go together, and Aisha's heart skips a bit in a way that has nothing to do with the subjects they're studying.

She falls asleep after a few hours of slow conversation, drifting off as Kim sings a song (one she remembers Kim writing, though of course she cannot tell her that). Her dreams are shamefully lustful, and she awakens as a dream-phantom Kim's lips press upon her own, heated body.

She wakes up covered in sweat and shivers; the room cold despite the heat that lingers on her skin. She licks her lips and dares to glance toward Kim, only to find her missing; both her and the chair, so she's clearly gone somewhere.

She relaxes back into bed, but cannot sleep; Kim does not return, and Aisha keeps track of the long minutes ticking by. After fifteen minutes, she bolts up, a Power Ranger in action long after hanging up her uniform on the spandex mantle.

* * * 

She finds Kim in the bathroom, sobbing quietly in one of the shower stalls.

“Kim?” She asks; knocking on the door. “Are you okay?”  
  
“I'm OK,” she says, softly, then: “I'm sorry. I don't want you to see me this way. Go back to bed, Aisha, I'll be – “  
  
“Crying in the bathroom doesn't sound OK to me, Kim,” Aisha says, flicking her long braids behind her ears. “What's going on?”  
  
There's a hesitation, and Kim falls silent, and Aisha fears that she's lost her, but then she hears the wheels of the wheelchair squeaking, and Kim opens the door.

“It's so stupid,” she says, softly, shaking her head and laughing. “So stupid.”  
  
“What is it?”  
  
“I just...” Kim shrugs and swings open the door. Aisha does her best not to notice that Kim is covered only by a towel and two plastic bags, hastily pulled over her legs. “I couldn't get the shower on.”  
  
Aisha sees the problem right away; even though the door on the handicap stall is low, obviously meant for a wheelchair to be able to open it, the university did not bother to lower the plumbing, and the controls for the shower remain above Kim's sitting height.

Despite it all, Aisha laughs. “You're right, Kim. That is really _fucking_ stupid of the University.”  
  
She moves forward, the faithful bear that she is, and paws at the handle. “How hot do you like it?”

“Aisha, you don't have to – “  
  
“Kim, it's OK. I don't mind.”  
  
“Hot,” Kim says, shyly. “If I don't look like a lobster when I get out, then it's not hot enough.”  
  
“Easy enough, Aisha says, and lets the water run, even knowing it will get her wet. She doesn't care.

She turns her back as Kim undresses, ignores the sound of the towel being thrown outside the small cubicle. “H-Hot enough?” She asks, as Kim moves under the water.

“Oh yes,” Kim sighs, happily, and Aisha nods. “I'll wait outside,” she says, and if Kim notices the slight wobble in her voice, she doesn't comment on it.

 * * * 

This Kim is the same – and yet different.

She's more guarded now; her sister no longer shares everything off the top of her head. She requires a bit more coaxing, a bit more reassurance. She wonders if this Kim has had it harder without her friend near her – but doesn't dare ask, at least not yet.

Instead, she turns to lighter topics. They don't have the same major, exactly – she's veterinary med, Kim's sports med. Privately, she wonders if it's hard on Kim, studying the same science that doesn't seem able to help her, but she holds onto this, buries it deep within her heart.

She has a lot of secrets.

It's _hard_ , not telling Kim who she is, what she is. She sees Kimberly's favorite food in the store, but can't pick it up, not without lying about why she did. No matter how happy it makes Kim to get a surprise slice of strawberry cheesecake, it twists her up inside to have to lie to her, to tell her it was just a coincidence, that the pink made her think of Kim.

“I do love pink,” Kim says, with a dazzling smile.

“I know what you mean,” Aisha replies, then turns away so Kim doesn't see the tear that crusts in her eye.

* * * 

Kim is still beautiful.

She's gorgeous, really; her body is still lithe, and even bound by the chair, she is still elegant, still possesses all of the grace she once had as a ranger. Aisha watches her sometimes in the morning, eyes still mostly closed, as Kim brushes out her hair, sets it. Her make-up is always fresh, always on point. She likes pink for the lips, distractingly so; Aisha's breath catches as she watches Kim put on baby-pink lipstick. She likes brown or a very matte gold for the eyes; that much is new, and far more subtle than the make-up Kim would have worn in high school.

She wonders, sometimes, if it might be a sign that Kim remembers her. If only subconsciously.

* * * 

Aisha goes hungry.

Not in food – Kim and her eat well in Paris, and she tries many kinds of foods that neither Kenya nor Angel Grove had prepared her to enjoy. The French love cream; Aisha is only distracted by her desire from crème puffs by the look of Kim smiling, a crème fraiche mustache on her face.

“What's wrong?” Kim asks, laughing, as Aisha points to her mouth.

“Oh, nothing. You've just got something right – “Her finger makes contact, and the last word falls silent in her mouth. Kim gives her a look, unreadable in it's daringness, and for a moment the two of them stare at one another in _Rue Rose_.

But then she smiles, and laughs, and pops a strawberry in her mouth, and Aisha's stomach twists in a way that has nothing to do with physical hunger.

 

* * * 

Her favorite class is the one she shares with Kim.

They sit together more often than not. Kim needs to have a seat up front in the only handi-capable seat, and Aisha is glad to have the front row too – it keeps her focused on her studies, even when she's next to Kim.

She likes watching Kim take notes though; unlike her – all lists and examples – Kim is a doodler. “Kim” she doodles, then, with another, pinker pen, she draws a heart, filling it in with bright silver and pink bursts of pen ink. Kim draws pictures of their classmates and their professor in the margins; sometimes Aisha even catches a hint of herself, a bright yellow sunshine smile poking out between notes on the vascular system.

Sometimes she draws things more from the past than the present – Kim's firebird and pterodactyl race along the border, leaving bright pink trails in their wake.

Aisha doesn't comment on those drawings.

* * *

Sometimes Aisha wonders if Kim does remember her, just a little bit.

She draws Aisha in yellow always; while Aisha wears a fair amount of it, she's not the same child she was in her teenage years, canvassing the Angel Grove Goodwill for another yellow top.

“I have something for you,” Kim says shyly, before giving her a surprise two weeks into term – Aisha's 23rd birthday. She hands out a small package, and Aisha smiles; shocked at the kindness. Kim's soft smile is irresistible, and she can't help but let her fingers tear through the paper, though she admires the soft pink and yellow ribbon pattern

Inside there's a picture of Aisha, a portrait hand-drawn by Kim. Aisha looks _radiant_ , her skin practically shiny. She smiles in the portrait, beautiful and kind, in a way that almost takes her breath away. She knows, instantly, that if she ever writes a book, this is what she will use as her author's picture. 

“Do you like it?” Kim asks shyly.

“I love it!” She says, smiling, and immediately, reverently, places it on her table. Something that nice, she figures, needs a frame. A memory that good is worth preserving.

* * * 

She doesn't realize quite how hard Kim's injury has been on her until Tommy calls. 

“Hello?” She says, picking up their house phone. It's one of the odd, old-fashioned things they have in their room. Even in Kenya, everyone has a cell now, but St. Moineau insists – one house phone for each dorm room.

When she picks it up, alone in their room, she expects it to be her parents, or Malawi, or Bakira. She does not expect to hear a familiar voice mutter, in hesitant french.

“Uh, bo-bonjour.”  _Tommy?_ She thinks. She isn't sure at first – the voice sounds the same but more halting than normal, hesitant. She debates answering in English, almost does, but then remembers that Tommy will not know her, that she will be a stranger.

“Oui, 11 rue Paradis, 314. _”_ She swallows, wonders if her voice even sounds familiar to him.

“Oh, uh, uh... Je, uh….peux parler..uh...Kimberly, s’il vous plaît?” He sighs, a frustration that she rarely saw him express in the other timeline. “Sorry. Uh – do you speak English? I'm trying to find my uh, friend Kim...”

“Yes,” she says, simply. “You can speak English. I – am fluent.”

“Oh good.” He sounds relieved, then draws in a sharp breath. “Sorry. Uh. I just realized, I don't know your name…?”

“Aisha Campbell.” She pauses for a second, waits to see if any alarm bells go off for Tommy. He stays silent, so she continues. “I'm Kim's roommate.”

“Oh. Nice to meet you, Aisha.”

“You too. Kim's out– “ She stops mid-sentence as the door opens, and Kim's small form wheels in, her books lying in her lap. “She just came in the door, actually.”

“Hey,” She says, and Kim smiles. She holds the phone toward Kim. “This is ah, Tommy. He just called for you?”

Instantly, the smile vanishes. But Kim's small fingers take the phone anyway. Aisha moves away, intending to give Kim and Tommy some space, but Kim grabs her hand, her fingers clinging tight to Aisha's own.

“Stay,” she mouths silently, and so Aisha does.

“Hi Tommy,” Kim says, and though she tries to smile Aisha can tell she isn't really happy. Her downcast eyes, the tight grip on the phone – all of it screams that Kim is a woman who wants nothing so much as to be able to hang up. “I'm okay.”

Aisha opens her organic chem book and tries not to listen too closely. She isn't sure why Kim wants her to be in the room, not unless she wants to introduce Aisha _to_ Tommy, and she wondered, vaguely, if she would do it the same way she had in another lifetime. (Minus the runaway baby carriage, of course.)

“Oh, a meet-up? That's nice,” Kim says, awkwardly curling her finger in the phone line. “No, I can't come.”

She pauses again, and Aisha looks up, surprised. Kim's forehead is knotted, the distortion created by Kim's hand over her eyes. “No,” she says again, more forcefully. “Tommy, I can't. I have classes – yes, I know you have classes too, but...”

Aisha doesn't turn away as Kim groans. “No, look, I _can't_. It's not just clas-- no, it's not the money. It's not your business why. I can't. That's all.”

“I'm not arguing with you, Tommy,” she sighs; she sounds old. Older than either of them are. Aisha gets up, puts her hand on Kim's shoulder, frowning.

“I said I'm not arguing. You're not my leader anymore; I don't want to talk about it.” Another pause. Kim squeezes her hand back, and Aisha tries not to give away how high her heart rate climbs in response.

“Goodbye, Tommy,” Kim says, and hangs up, Tommy's voice still coming through the tinny speaker. She wonders why Kim won't go – the hassle, the money, the time?

She doesn't have much time to wonder as Kim turns toward her.

“God, I could use a drink.” She brushes familiar brown hair away from her face, though a few strands still cling to her strawberry-colored lip gloss. “Do you want to go get a drink?"

“Sure,” Aisha says, and like that, the ghosts of the past are expelled.

But Aisha still feels them at her back as Kim wheels forward, looking for a bar like she is on a mission.

* * *

The bar is loud and noisy, but they sit in silent for a while. Kim sips at a whiskey and water (and Aisha knows she's upset, because she's never seen Kim drink, ever, not even a little bit, and now she's on the hard stuff, and drinking fast), while she's sipping at a gin and tonic. She likes the taste of tonic, subtly bubbly and tart, but she doesn't know how to talk to Kim about this, how to ask.

Thankfully, Kim brings it up for her.

“I'm sorry you had to watch me be a bitch,” Kim says, half an hour after they arrive. “I'm not like that.”

“I know you're not.” She doesn't even think Kim was a bitch, truthfully. She smiles, but Kim doesn't return it, staring down into the glass.

“That guy – Tommy? He's my ex. The one I was serious about.” She pauses, staring down into her glass. “He was my first boyfriend. And my longest.”

“He sounded bossy,” she says, not sure exactly what Kim wants to share. She feels boxed in, unable to say anything about Tommy without revealing that she knows too much.

“He's not, really. We were both in this...group?” Kim tilts her head toward Aisha, sounding half-surprised herself. Aisha isn't surprised that Kim doesn't mention that she was a power ranger in a public bar, and takes little offense. It makes her feel better, actually, to know neither of them can be entirely honest. “He was the leader of it. For...well, for a long time. Years. He's had a hard time letting go of that.”

She says nothing, merely smiling reassuringly.

“I was really nasty to him. And those friends.” Kim draws in a shuddering breath. “Can I tell you something?”

“Sure.”

“When I went into training for the games, it...changed me.” She doesn't look at Aisha, slamming back her drink. “My coach told me told everything from my old life was holding me back, and I thought my coach was right. I cut everyone off – I broke up with Tommy, I didn't call my friends. I left them behind. There was this girl I left...” Kim looked up at her, eyes glazed. “You remind me of her.”

Aisha swallows, not wanting to say anything, suddenly aware of far too dangerous ground.

“She was..really smart. Confident. She was the fire captain at our school, silly thing right?” Kim shakes her head. “Not to her. That girl – she was amazing. She was going into the wiring with the superintendent, even got Ernie – he's the guy who ran the juice bar we used to hang out at – to fireproof up his kitchen. She took everything and ran with it. She was – she was my best friend.”

Aisha's heart beats faster, a run-away train pounding down her veins. Kim _remember_ _s_. Kim remembers _her_ , which means Kim remembers _everything_. She smiles as the future glitters before her. _Finally_. After years, she can finally tell the truth.

“She was my _best_ friend, Aish. I loved her so much and I - “ Kim's voice broke into a sob. “I can't even remember her name. That's what a stupid bitch I am. I _loved_ her and I don't even remember who she was.”

Aisha's stomach plunges, the train slamming abruptly on the breaks. Kim remembers, but not like she does.

“You must think so little of me now.” Kim smiles toward her, but the smile is sad; biter. “I tried to look her up later, but...it's like she vanished. No one remembers her, even though...” Kim frowns. “I thought she was… she was on our ...team.”

“Oh, Kim.” Aisha freezes, not knowing what to say but knowing she has to say _something_. “I don't hate you...and I _know_ she wouldn't hate you either.”

She squeezes Kim's hand, soft in her own. Kim pulls her close; hugs her, and the world feels _right_ for one second. Aisha is calm, cuddling close to Kim even as a storm raged in her heart. Should she tell her? She should. Certainly not here, but...soon. If Kim would believe her. “You shouldn't punish yourself. If you want to talk to Tommy and your friends..you should. Even if they don't remember her. You shouldn't let that stop you from living...or loving.”

“Thanks, Aisha.” Kim sighs. “But I don't want to see them. They don't know about ...the accident. And I'd rather they didn't. And...” She glances around the bar, before turning back toward Aisha. “Can you keep a secret?”

“Of course, girl. You _know_ that.”

“I think...I would have broken up with Tommy anyway. I like him, he's a good friend, but...” Kim bites her lip; Aisha stares at it a second too long, distracted, then covers it up by diving for her drink. Kim doesn't seem to notice. “When I was at my training camp, I realized something. I don't feel…that way about him. Or guys in general. I thought I did when I was like fourteen but...” She shrugs. “I liked hanging out with Tommy. But I never wanted...more. Not like I did with my friend, and...I wish I could remember her better. We never...” Kim takes another long sip of her drink. “I was afraid, you know?”

“I know.” She squeezes Kim's hand again, daring to hold it for more than a few seconds. “I feel the same. About...girls, I mean.”

“You do?” Kim looks up, surprised, then laughs. This one is an honest one, true and loud and pleasing. “Oh. Well, I guess that's a relief. I was afraid you might request a transfer. I mean, not everyone is - “

“Same.” She says, then, emboldened by the feeling that she's just tossed half the weight she's been carrying off her shoulders, says: “Another drink?”

* * *

By the time they make it home, they're both pretty buzzed.

“Welcome back to the Lesbian's Closet,” Kim says as she shuts the door.

“At least it's a closet we can share,” she shoots back, before realizing that it sounds like it could be a come-on.

“Yeah, well, I wouldn't mind playing fifteen minutes in heaven.” Kim giggles and winks at her, and she freezes, one of her feet still half in the air. _Did she just -_

“I - “ She swallows. Yes. That was a flirt, a pass, a _sign._  “Kiss me,” she says, then winces. She hadn't meant to blurt it out, but there's nothing she wants more, and to her surprise Kim nods and wheels forward, and as she leans down she receives her first kiss.

Its _nothing_ like she thought it might be. There aren't sparks, or fireworks, or any of the hackneyed things that she's read, but there's a surging in her blood, a heavy thrum in her heart, and an aching heat between her thighs.

Kim pulls back first, a slightly dreamy expression on her face. “I really like you, Aisha,” she says.

“I like you, too,” She stutters, and, just like that, she has a girlfriend.


	3. Chapter 3

It changes everything, and it changes nothing.

Aisha and Kim are happiest when together. If they get the occasional strange look – either from what they are or for who they dare to love – they pay it no mind. Their world is their own, they are in love, and there is little else that they need. Besides, people tend to stare at Aisha less when she's with Kim; even in France, her dark skin turns heads nearly as quickly as her Kenyan wardrobe, but she refuses to wear clothing that does not express who she is now. (People whisper behind her back that she should not be here; is not French enough to be here – but Aisha, who speaks perfect French, as she does English and Swahili, does not bother to answer, for such criticism is below her.)

People tend to stare at Kim less when she is with Aisha; they are wary when Kim is alone, afraid that an invalid might ask for their help, might roll into their path and inconvenience them for a few, precious seconds; with Aisha around, they assume she has a handler (as if she needed it).

Needless to say, they quickly find their time is best when it is shared shared.

* * * 

Aisha has changed, and Kim has, too. They're not the same kids they were in high school. Kim's a surprisingly studious student and marks tests and quizzes off her calendar as quickly as she writes off doctor's appointments for her legs ; Aisha likes to relax after her classes, drinking wine and pressing kisses to Kim's mouth in an extracurricular acctivity that has _nothing_ to do with the Angel Girls' club.

They make to their first anniversary, four weeks gone in the blink of an eye. She buys Kim flowers - pink irises, with tender yellow stamens in a milky white base. Kim squeals with delight before immediately wheeling back to her desk to put them next to her laptop.

She returns with a small package on her lap.

“Here, Aisha,” she says shyly. “This...might be a bit weird, but I saw it, and...I hope you like it.”

“I'm sure I'll love it.” She opens it carefully, folding away the bright yellow wrapping paper. There's a small totem inside, so carefully chosen that Aisha almost cries out, surprised in its beauty.

She plucks it out with her fingers carefully, holding it up to the light. The wooden bear, etched with golden designs on its back, sparkles. Her breath goes in, out, in, out, but she finds herself unable to do anything else, a million questions burning inside her: Does Kim _know?_ Does she remember? Is it just a coincidence or is there something else, something greater at work here?

“Do – Do you like it it?” She looks back, surprised; the spell broken by Kim's hesitance. She doesn't remember that, doesn't remember a time when Kim ever lacked confidence; that's been new, and unwelcome, but Aisha has made it her mission to banish such thoughts when they come.

“I love it,” she promises, her hand seeking out and squeezing Kim's own. And there is the old smile again; pure and bright as the sun. She makes a mental note to ask why Kim has picked a bear later, but for now, she's thankful to reassure her, to hold Kim's hand in her own and to be loved.

* * *

Staring at her wooden bear, flecked with gold, the solution to her family's plight finally comes to her.

It's the gold that does it; reminiscent of the sun's rays, Aisha suddenly realizes that she hasn't studied the impact of global warming on the animals.

A few laborious studies of plant life pulled later, she comes to a shocking conclusion: several forms of plant life are dying out in the Savannah, leading to more aggressive behavior among the surviving herbivores competing over lingering scraps; this, in turn, has led to more aggressive behavior among carnivores when trying to fight over lesser amounts of prey.

It's complicated yet simple; different interlocking pieces in one big puzzle.

She writes a paper and is hailed as a hero; she refuses the accolades, saying she will only celebrate when she figures out how to reverse the process.

“You're still a hero to me,” Kim says, hugging her, and Aisha presses a kiss to her shoulder in order to hide her smile, amused at a former power ranger having such an earthbound idea of a hero.

“I love you, Aisha,” Kim says, looking at her, and she looks up, startled, because of all the things she ever thought she'd hear, this wasn't one of them, yet simultaneously it is the best thing in her life, the sweetest reward or accolade she could receive.

“I love you, too,” she says, and she doesn't have to hesitate, can't hesitate; her heart is beating too fast, but also too happily; she never realized how much she needed to hear those three words.

* * *

Neither has ever been in love with a woman before. Kim confesses that she's never even kissed anyone who wasn't Tommy besides Aisha, and Aisha thinks it's funny that everyone Kim has ever dated has been a power ranger. She wants to tease her that she has a type but that conversation – that's hard to find the right time for.

* * *

It takes her a month longer for her to work up the courage to tell Kim about the time-lines. Firstly, because she doesn't want Kim to think she's crazy. Secondly, because she's happy with Kim, happier than she's been in a long time, and she doesn't want the first thing that's gone right since she's started her new life to shrivel in front of her, to die. She's terrified of that.

But the moment finally arrives, despite her best efforts to avoid it.

Kim and her are drinking; rosé, Kim's favorite. The bright pink wine tickles at her lips, less bitter than the wine she favors. It's light and airy, like Kim, and when Kim leans back and says, “Asiha, sometimes I feel like I've known you my whole life,” Aisha knows its the opening she's been waiting for.

“You kind of have,” She says, putting down the wine. Kim giggles, waiting for a punchline, then turns toward her when she doesn't give her one.

“What?”

She scoots forward on Kim's bed, Kim's soft lips temptingly close. It would be easy to stop, to press a kiss to her instead, but she swallows, strives to continue on.

“Ok, this is going to sound crazy, but – what if I told you there were multiple time-lines?”

“No way, Aisha.” Kim smiles, unfooled. “You've been reading too much sci-fi. You sound like Billy.”

“Look, I'll prove it to you. Let me tell you something – and don't interrupt me, okay?”

“Okay,” she says, but her eyes are widened. Curious? Afraid? Aisha's heart plunges into her belly, but she's gone too far to pretend to make a joke now.

“Your friend you mentioned – Billy? He was a tech geek. A _real_ tech geek. He was the blue power ranger; your ex, Tommy? He was the green ranger, then the white one.”

Kim's mouth falls open, but, to her credit, she doesn't interrupt.

“Kim, you were pink. Your friends Trini, Jason, and Zach, they were yellow, red, and black respectively, but when they got called for a peace conference in Switzerland...” She took a deep breath. It didn't help. No matter how much air she had in her lungs, she wanted more. The truth burned, and it poured out of her. “Zordon, he sent you for the Sword of Power, and in my original time-line, you used that to transfer the morphin' powers to me, Adam, and Rocky. Yellow-black-red, respectively.”

“Aish...” Kim looks afraid, not just of her powers but of _her_ , and Aisha's heart feels like it will explode. She can't regret telling Kim, not when it's the right thing to do, but she can tell that she's losing her, and she's scared, because Kim's the only thing she's found from her old life that she _needs_ in her new one.

“Look, Kim, I know it's hard to understand.” She says, talking a bit too fast now, afraid to let Kim even have a word in, because she's scared that the next words that Kim will say will be _it's over_ and she doesn't want that. “I chose to change th world's time-line because I wanted – I wanted to help someone, in my Zeo quest. I didn't know in doing so, that I'd make you all forget about me, because if I knew that… I'm not sure, in all honesty, I would have picked it. But Zordon doesn't do take-backs, you know?”

“I know.” Kim said, then: "Believe me, I know."

“So I guess what I'm trying to say is, you know...the girl? The one you couldn't remember the name of. That was me. And the Zeo Crystal? That's what was what was making you forget. I was going to, too, but -- someone helped me remember."

Kim says nothing; stays silent. There is a pause, then, gradually, the pause fades into a deafening nothingness. Aisha looks down, biting her mouth – has she said too much? Has she lost her?

“Damn,” Kim says softly, at long last. “I wish I could remember more about you, Aish. Do you think - ”

“It's okay.” Aisha smiles, a huge relief on her shoulders. "You believe me?"  
  
"You're not going to make up something _that_ crazy, Aisha. Besides, once you find out space monsters are real, little things like _alternate time-lines_ are like...small fish, you know?" She squeezes Aisha's hand, and she hears the promise inherent in it;  _I'm with you_. "I just wish I could remember more. What I have, they're just...bits, pieces." 

“We can make new memories for all the ones you've forgotten.” 

And then Kim leans over, kissing her hungrily, and Aisha giggles against her, looking forward to creating all new memories.

* * *

When she wakes up, sore and alone, awake in Kim's bed, she's scared.

Kim isn't there, nor is her chair. She sits up straight. “Kim?”

A small child pokes his head into the door, and Aisha blinks, wondering if she's still dreaming. Wondering if perhaps this is all a dream, if she'll dust the sleep from her eyes and wake up in Kenya.

Her mother had always warned her that _watchawi_   were creatures not to be trusted. Perhaps this is Zedd and Rita's final revenge – to break her heart.

“She's busy,” the kid says, his words given an odd, whistling quality from his lack of teeth. He can't be older than two, maybe three, she thinks; where are his parents?

“You'se Aisha?” He says, moving closer. She cringes; draws the blanket up to her neck to hide her nudity.  
  
“Yeah." The child, now at the edge of Kim's bed, grins, his large eyes wide. She sucks in a harsh breath as she sees them – eyes with stars in them, hot supernovas burning brightly.

 _Watchawi_ , her mother's voice whispers.

“Mama said she talked to you, already,” the kid says confidently. “Kim's last on her and daddy's list.”

“Who are your parents?” She asks, though she is pretty sure she already knows.

“You met them before. They sent you here, remember?” The kid says, smiling bright. “Mama says I'm not supposed to tell people their names. My name's Thrax tho,” he says, obviously proud. “On Earth mama said I should say I'm Peter. But Thrax is cooler.”

Aisha nods, then tries to smile reassuringly even as her knees quake. Kim, too, has a choice from Rita and Zedd – and she wonders what, exactly, she'll chose. Will she redo her Pan games, or not even go? Will she change time, avoid the truck that broke her legs, avoid becoming a ranger at all, avoid ever meeting Aisha?

She doesn't know, and, helpless, she knows there's only one thing to do while she waits.

“Can you wait outside?” She asks Thrax, still looking up at her with all the stars burning in his eyes. “I need to change.”

“Sure,” the toddler says, and as soon as he's out the door, she whips open her wardrobe.

She's got work to do.

* * *

She chooses, in the end, to dress in yellow. A bright yellow sundress, with a bright pink scrunchie holding back her long braids. It's the color combo that she feels safest in, the color that comforts her, the color that – if Kim comes back – she wants her to see.

She waits, knowing better than to interrupt Rita and Zedd. She lets Thrax in, plays old maid with him as she waits, even lets him win a few hands while she thinks, sick to her stomach, of Kim, of Kim's choices, of whether she'll even know if Kim chooses to forget her – or will it simply, always, be? Will she wake up again this morning, in a different girl's bed?

She's just lost the seventh hand to a triumphant toddler when there's a knock on the door.

“Come in,” she says surprised, and then Kim's wheeling in, Rita and Zedd standing behind her. Her eyes glow with a warm light, and Aisha is surprised when she wheels as fast as she can to Aisha, her mouth seeking Aisha's own.

The kiss is long, and sweet, and makes Thrax mumble a _yuck_. She hears Rita laughing, or at least she's thinks it's Rita, but it sounds distant, all things distant to the feel of Kim's lips touching her own. When she at long last pulls apart to breath, she smiles, relieved.

“I remember now,” Kim says softly, “but I was thinking – maybe we could still make those new memories?”

“Definitively,” Aisha agrees, and then they kiss again.

* * *

She stays by Kim's side.

She stays through the good semesters and the bad ones. She stays through an awkward trip home to meet Kim's mom and dad, both surprisingly approving in the end. She stays through Kim's casts being cut off, the months of back-breaking physical therapy Kim endures. She kisses away the pain, holds her hand during the worst moments of doubt, hugs her in jubilation when Kim takes her first halting steps again.

She goes to Angel Grove, with Kim, and they remember and stay together, even if Aisha is a stranger among friends most of the time. She goes back to Kenya with Kim in hand, and her mother says if this is all that the _watchawi_ have brought upon the house, then they have brought them a blessing.

Not all their friends understand – but they have their families, and one another, and that has always been more than enough.

Aisha stays, and Kim stays, and that's all she wants.

And they still make new memories, too.

* * *

They're the first lesbian couple married in Angel Grove.

There's no question that they're going home, once the Supreme Court announces it. How could they get married anywhere else?

The ceremony at the courthouse is small, but wonderful. Her mother dresses her in a traditional kenyan wedding band, yellow leather with soft rose-gold accents. “It suits you,” her kenyan mother says, then returns to fussing over her dress, a gold, satin confection that shimmers as she moves.

Kim, in a pink dress, so light it's nearly white; she's radiant. Her step-father and mother smile at Aisha, waving from the audience. Tommy, proudly, helps Kim up the aisle, his tux somehow not clashing despite the green, red, and white he's woven into it: green lapel, white tux, red handkerchief. (They all have their colors, she thinks.)

Their friends are all there, each doing their part. Tanya helps her with her hair, making sure the golden and light pink beads are just so; Kat fusses over the decorations, while Rocky and Adam help as ushers. It hurts to see them, but feels good, too – even if they don't remember old memories, they will help her and Kim create new ones.

Billy and his new bride help run the stereo system, while Zack mixes the music. Jason helps run the food in their reception with Gathii and Bakira. Alpha, somehow brought back to earth just for this, excitedly greets all their guests. “Such a cute robot your friend Billy's built,” Kim's mother gushes, and Kim and Aisha share a secret smile.

Aisha hugs Alpha, even if he doesn't remember, and the _ay-yi-yi_ – uttered in both distress and excitement – is enough to make them all laugh.

And when the moment comes, when Kim is not just her dream nor her girlfriend but her _wife_ , her knees buckle but do not bend, and she claims Kim's mouth with a kiss that's as full of firepower and fireworks as any Hollywood kiss.

When the party is over – and it's not over any time soon, going long into the night – their friends and family herd them to a disastrously decorated car, and Kim guns it, despite her large, poofy dress getting in the way.

“So, where to next, honey?” Kim asks, her hand squeezing Aisha's own; Aisha thinks of their tickets back to Africa, where they'll study global warming and – she's sure now – find a solution, at long last. “Ready to save the world?”

“We already did,” Aisha says, laughing at their by now quite old joke. “But I guess we can save it again.”

They drive toward the airport, all smiles and contentment, and Aisha relaxes, truly happy for the first time in forever.

In the end, the world has changed, but as long as she has Kim at her side, she knows it'll be alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The leather strap as wedding gear idea comes from the Pokot people of Kenya. 
> 
> I had a lot of fun writing this fic, which went far longer than I anticipated. I hope you enjoyed reading it!


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